


Whole World Blind

by Ccroquette



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hetalia Kink Meme, Historical, Kalmar Union
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ccroquette/pseuds/Ccroquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Sweden got his glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whole World Blind

It does’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

Funny, that.

He tries to smile as he staggers back to Tino’s room, with one hand clapped over the left side of his face and muffled curses ringing in his ears. It pulls the muscles of his cheek, around his eye.

That hurts. He stops smiling. 

He stumbles down the long dark hallway - too few candles, here, and it makes this house that they all share look even more unwelcoming - and through the door, so clumsy that before he’s even over the threshold Tino has grabbed his arm. “What happened?" Tino questions, as he steers Berwald into a chair. 

“Had a fight." He tries not to move his face. The shock is wearing off, quickly replaced by pain, and it’s not only his eye that’s been hit. The flickering of the firelight is making him dizzy, and he bites back a groan. 

Tino’s brow furrows, and he gently takes Berwald’s wrist between his fingers, and eases it away from his face. Berwald’s blood gets on Tino’s shirt. Tino doesn’t look like he cares. Once Berwald’s hand is out of the way, though, his face blanches. 

“ _Voi vittu,_ ” he breathes, and it occurs to Berwald that this is the man he has seen gut people without so much as a second glance.

“How bad?” he asks.

In answer, Tino takes out his knife. He turns to leave.

“Where’re you goin’?”

Tino’s voice is calm, but his grip on the knife is so strong that his knuckles have turned white. He doesn’t look back. “I’m going to put both that bastard’s eyes out.”

Berwald manages to grab his sleeve with one shaky, bleeding hand and stop him before he can take another step. “Don’t.” 

If anything, Tino looks angry with _him_ now. Berwald would laugh at that, if he weren’t hurting so much. 

Tino’s knife-hand is shaking. “Why-”

“ _Don’t._ ” There’s no sense getting Tino involved in this stupid mess. Tino’s face says he doesn’t agree, though, and Berwald forces more words out, trying to calm him. “A’ready broke ‘is jaw.”

Tino hesitates, then sheathes the knife. Berwald relaxes the grip on his sleeve, but doesn’t let go. He’s still facing the door, and still has that tense set to his shoulders that says he’s seriously considering doing something terribly, terribly unwise. 

“It’ll hurt ‘im worse not bein’ able t’ talk, anyways,” Berwald mutters, and fights a grimace. 

Tino smiles, weakly, and finally turns back to him. He leans in and gently takes Berwald’s chin in his hand, tilting his face to be more fully in the light. 

“How bad?” Berwald repeats, clenching his teeth against the pain.

“‘S gone,” says Tino, and then, very softly, “… do eyes grow back?”

Berwald grunts a non-answer. He doesn’t know. He’s never lost one before.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” Tino says, Berwald’s chin still in his hand, voice oddly high-pitched. Berwald realizes he’s trying - and failing - at keeping himself calm. He’s become accustomed to patching Berwald up after these incidents, but this is completely new, and Berwald definitely doesn’t like the look of barely-restrained panic that’s settling across his face. When Tino gets frightened, he wants to stab things.

“Clean it out.” Berwald doesn’t know what to do, either, but if it will keep Tino from getting himself killed he’ll pretend he does. 

Tino stares at him, horrified. “That’s going to hurt.”

“Already does.”

Tino swallows, once, and lets go. He turns away to gather his supplies. These fights have become frequent enough recently that Tino’s started keeping bandages on hand. He takes some and then starts cutting them to length. It’s plain from the way he works that he wishes the knife were cutting through something else entirely. As he’s working a knock sounds at the door.

Berwald makes to get up - and almost immediately falls back into the chair, dizzy and in too much pain to think. There is a glare from Tino and then he cracks open the door. Berwald hears Norway’s voice - unintelligible - for a moment and then Tino’s got his knife out, stabbing blindly through the opening and snarling Finnish curses. 

There’s cursing from Norway, then, too, and Tino slams the door shut.

“Don’t hurt ‘im,” Berwald mumbles belatedly, dazed. 

“I didn’t.” The look on Tino’s face says that he wishes he had. He sheathes the knife, and holds it out to Berwald, hilt at face-height. “Bite this.”

Tino gets to work, cleaning and bandaging, and Berwald does his best to hold back the inevitable scream. By the time Tino’s done there are marks left deep in the hilt of his knife and tears weeping from Berwald’s good eye. He spits out the knife and sags against the back of the chair, breathless and exhausted. It feels like his skull’s been ripped apart.

Tino looks at him, concerned, and then to his surprise places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. He may patch Berwald up when he’s done fighting, but he’s never actually shown him affection before. 

Berwald can’t smile without screaming, so he reaches a hand up to squeeze Tino’s wrist instead. 

\---

The pain is the least of his problems. 

It goes away fairly quickly, but the effects of losing an eye do not. He spends weeks reaching for - and subsequently tipping over - objects that aren’t quite where his brain insists they are, no matter what he sees. It’s easier, though no less disconcerting, to get used to turning his head whenever he needs to see something to his left, but each time he does it reminds him that he has a blind spot. A vulnerability.

Denmark avoids him. He avoids Denmark. 

A strange fragile peace settles over the house and he’s almost become resigned to the way it is, now, until one morning when he wakes up screaming to sharp pains where his eye used to be. Concerned, Tino takes a look.

It turns out eyes grow back. 

\----

He can’t see out of it right away, but it keeps on hurting.

The sharp pain develops into a constant dull ache burrowing deep inside his head, and he keeps the eye covered because keeping a bandage on it makes him feel as though he’s doing something to make it better. Tino frets, but there’s nothing really to be done - except cut it out again, and Tino wouldn’t do that even if he asked him to.

Denmark would, maybe, but they’re still avoiding each other. 

He learns to ignore it until one day he wakes up, and finds that his head feels...strange. It takes him a moment to realize that the pain is finally gone. He ventures to Tino’s door, and though Tino’s half-asleep himself he lets him in. 

“‘S my eye,” Berwald says, and Tino sits him down.

Tino gingerly peels back the bandages, lifts up his eyelid with one lightly-callused thumb. His eyes widen. “It looks...normal,” he says. “Can you…?”

He closes his good eye, and is met with hazy greyness. 

“Can you see this?”

Movement.

He opens the good eye again to find Tino waving a hand in front of his face. He nods, and Tino answers with a grin.

He half-smiles. It’s not much, really, nothing compared to what it was…but if his eye can grow back and develop enough for him to see something out of it then one day it might repair itself completely. 

Slowly the weeks pass and it starts to get better - the haze thins, and then when he closes his good eye he can make out shapes, and then colors. Finally there’s no haze at all, but his vision remains blurred. He hopes that this, too, will resolve itself in time. 

Denmark - jaw long-healed - has left him more or less alone, but Berwald knows he’s watching. Everyone’s watching him. Norway treats him likes he’s made of glass and he’s caught the worried looks Tino gives him when Tino doesn’t know Berwald can see. 

Tenuous peace continues to reign over the household, but it’s tense, unnatural, and Berwald finds himself wishing for the day when things return to normal. When everyone stops ducking away from each other and he and Denmark can argue properly, and settle it with fists when that fails. When Denmark stops looking at him with an expression that’s caught somewhere between shame and pity. 

He hopes that day arrives soon. 

In the meantime he has to re-adjust to it, to re-teach himself yet again how to process what he sees - something made all the more difficult that his vision is constantly changing. The ground tilts up to trip his feet and objects still aren’t where they should be. He gets headaches, sometimes, and sometimes he gets dizzy, and sometimes he thinks it is worse than having no eye at all.

It’s only when several more weeks pass and the vision from his left eye remains hopelessly blurred that he realizes it’s been a while since it’s gotten any better. It’s stopped healing. 

It turns out that eyes do not grow back very well.

\----

On a cold early morning in November he wakes up sick and hurting and knows that something’s _wrong._ His vision is the least of it - even if his eyes were fine he wouldn’t be able to see straight for the nausea. 

He staggers out of the bedroom, intending to seek out Tino; he should know what this is, how to fix it. He has to know what’s going on.

He encounters Norway in the hallway, prowling about the house, a lit candle in his hand and a strange expression on his face - half-thinking and half-lost in dreams. Whatever has happened, Berwald realizes, Norway already knows. 

He gives Berwald a sharp look, but says nothing.

“Norge,” Berwald says, voice too loud in the silent house. “What’s happened?”

Norway only shakes his head, looks away, inward. “I told that unbelievable _idiot_ that it was a bad idea, but of course he doesn’t listen.” He keeps on walking before Berwald can question him further, and is already gone by the time Berwald thinks to grab him. 

Headaches do that. 

He knocks at Tino’s door and receives no answer. 

He knocks again. 

When the door remains unanswered he gives up knocking and barges in. 

The knocking hurt his head, anyway. 

Tino sits on the chair in front of the fire, hunched over and curled in on himself. He’s rocking back and forth the tiniest bit, and as Berwald approaches he sees that Tino’s got his knife in hand, drawn and ready. His hand shakes so badly that if Berwald were thinking clearly right now he would take away the knife.

Berwald’s knees tremble, and he puts a hand on the back of the chair before he can fall. Tino looks up at him, finally, and fixes him with a dull stare. 

“What’s wrong?” His head is swimming. He sways, and the nausea flares. 

Tino’s gaze returns to the fireplace. “I should kill him.”

“What -” he tries again, but Tino’s not listening.

“I should kill him. If he comes back, I don’t care; I’ll kill him again.” The knife-hand twitches.

Berwald shakes him by the shoulder, trying not to retch as the movement makes him feel sicker. Tino pays it no mind. 

“I should make him _dead,_ ” Tino growls. 

He doesn’t have time for this. He grabs Tino by the collar, and heaves him up out of the chair, ignoring the surprised gasp. Were he thinking more clearly he would have noticed that Tino makes no move to use the knife. 

“What happened?” he asks, face inches away from Tino’s own, voice a menacing rumble. At this point he doesn’t even know if he might hurt him, if Tino doesn’t answer. 

He’s got Tino’s attention at least. He stops the dull staring and actually sees Berwald, and shakes his head minutely. He’s gone pale, and Berwald realizes that he’s feeling it, too. 

“Tanska,” he says. “He’s killed people. A lot of them. Mostly yours. Some of mine.”

“But -” Their people had been fighting, but last he’d known Denmark had promised amnesty. “- _why?_ ”

Tino is looking away from him again. “I should _kill_ him.”

Berwald lets go of him, pays no attention to the way he slumps back into the chair, staring at the knife-blade. It must be true, he realizes; why else would he feel as he does? The sickness mixes with anger at this sudden betrayal, burning hot, and he leaves the room in search of Denmark.

He finds him in the Hall, awake, sitting in front of the fire. Waiting.

Berwald stalks up to him, trying his best to stay steady on his feet. The room wavers; he ignores it and plants himself in front of Denmark, fists clenched. “What've you _done_?”

Denmark grins up at him, and it’s too big. Too self-assured. Not real. “What I had to.”

“You killed _my people!_ ” 

“They’re my people, now,” he says, “And they were traitors. What was I supposed to do, let them incite a rebellion?”

He can only stand there, hands shaking as badly as Tino’s were, unable to even find the words to answer. Maybe Tino’s right. Maybe Denmark should be killed.

“What do you care, Sverige?” Denmark says, but his knuckles whiten as they grip the chair-arms. “It was only a few heretics. It doesn’t matter. We’re united now.”

“Matters to _me._ ” He lunges.

He takes a swing at Denmark, intent on smashing that smug grin off his face - 

-and misses, coming up short. 

Denmark jumps to his feet and makes to strike back, and Berwald can see the blow coming, knows he can’t move quickly enough to avoid it as Denmark swipes at his good eye -

\- and stops.

He freezes on the spot, arm still outstretched, and looks at it, and looks up at Berwald -

\- and before Berwald can strike again he turns and leaves.

Berwald watches him go, head and heart pounding, and can’t decide if he should pursue him or wait, and attempt to talk this through. The anger gets the better of him and with a shout he turns and drives his fist into the wall - and this target, he doesn’t miss.

He can’t even fight with Denmark anymore, and fighting is the only thing that makes life here bearable.

He needs to get out.

\----

 

Surprisingly, when Tino’s done bandaging his hand he asks to come along. Berwald supposes there are worse companions to have, and can’t blame him for wanting to leave the house. He can only imagine what it must be like to be caught up in the problems of dysfunctional near-strangers.

He has to get out, but it’s not as simple as just packing up and leaving - it’s a dissolution of a union, after all, though after what’s happened Berwald’s countrymen are agreeable to it. Tino’s are, as well, and are more than willing to throw their lot in with him. 

Denmark has resumed avoiding him. Berwald could go after him, could attack him anyway and force him into a fight, but it would do more harm than good - and it’s no small part of him that hesitates to risk ruining both his eyes, with the prospect of a war looming. 

He makes his plans, carefully, and packs his things. Denmark has to know he’s going - can’t _not_ know it, with the way the politics have turned - but Berwald doesn’t plan to seek him out. 

It comes as a surprise, then, when he’s stepping out of the doorway for the last time and a voice calls out to stop him. 

“Hey!”

He keeps walking.

“Wait!”

He doesn't see why he ought to, but he stops and turns back. Denmark stands just inside the house, hand outstretched, holding something. Berwald steps closer, and closer still, to compensate for blurring eyesight, and sees folded in his palm a pair of spectacles. Delicate glass and fine metal, and Berwald could just take them and close his hand and _crush_ them, but he doesn’t.

He looks up at Denmark, who won’t meet his eyes. 

“I just - I -” Denmark stares down at the floor, and fidgets for a moment before finally spitting out, “I’m sorry.”

Berwald stares, until he begins to look uneasy, and finally he takes them from him and puts them on. 

He can see clearly again. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. Denmark nods once in answer, and turns to head back into the house. Berwald turns around again, and begins to walk away.

Maybe someday they will be able to work together. He adjusts the spectacles, and considers. It is not peace, it is not unity - but it is a promise. 

And that’s the next best thing.


End file.
